Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Evie sips hers like chamomile tea, lipstick un-smudged and spine arrow-straight. She was never the princess in a tower. She got to live, drink, and do as she pleased. Translation: her tolerance leaves mine in the dust, while I’m slowly melting into the leather cushions.
“You’re a mess,” she says, her tone bone-dry.
“I’m a bride,” I mutter, raising my glass in a mock toast. “Of a man I didn’t choose, in a marriage I didn’t sign up for, on a timeline I didn’t set.”
“So,” she says, raising her glass in return. “Exactly what your father raised you for.”
We clink our glasses. The sharp, familiar chime almost convinces me everything is normal. Just a girl grabbing drinks with her best friend instead of a lamb being marched to the sacrificial altar.
Evie studies me, expression unreadable. “So,” she says, “tell me about your groom.”
I groan and let my forehead thump against the sticky tabletop.
Evie’s brows shoot up. “That bad?”
“He’s infuriating,” I say, dragging the word out in a full-bodied whine.
“That bad,” she answers her own question.
“He’s calm and calculated, snarky too. That awful smirk is permanently glued to his face, and he’s dominant in this quiet, unnerving way that makes me want to throttle him.”
Evie takes another sip, a smug grin curving her mouth. “So, he makes you horny,” she teases.
My head snaps up.
“Evie,” I huff, flinging a straw wrapper at her.
She shrugs. “What? I’ve known you since we were eleven. I know that tone.”
“What tone?”
“The one you use when you’re trying very hard not to admit you find someone hot,” she answers coolly. “You used the same exact tone when you had a crush on Tommy Del Grazio in the tenth grade.”
I scoff. “Isaac is not hot,” I sputter. “He’s the enemy.”
She lifts one brow. “A hot enemy?”
I retaliate with a tortilla chip. She dodges effortlessly and steals one off my plate.
“Okay,” she says, “how long has it been since you saw him?”
“Three days.”
Her lips twitch. “And how many of those days have you thought about him?”
“I hate you.”
“That’s not a number.”
I sink lower into the booth. “All of them.”
Evie leans forward, grin widening. “All of them?”
I cover my face. “Every single one. It’s like he’s in my head on purpose. Like I left that meeting with the intention to forget him, and instead he built a condo in my frontal lobe and started redecorating.”
She laughs, a wicked, delighted sound. “Oh my God, you’re in trouble,” she sing-songs. “What a shame, you’re attracted to your future husband.”
“I am not!” I protest, a little too loudly.
She laughs, taking a long sip of her margarita.
I bolt upright, palms flat on the table as though bracing for impact. “This marriage isn’t happening,” I declare. “He’s going to call it off.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
She tilts her head curiously. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because I’m going to make his life hell.” I grin.
Evie laughs again, but sympathy lingers behind the sound. “You really think that’ll be enough?” she asks, doubt thick in her voice. The apprehension on her face isn’t just about my plan, it’s about me.
“I can be annoying enough when I want to be. I’ll make myself so impossible to live with, he’ll be begging to return me by day three.”
Evie stirs her straw through her drink, watching me carefully. “But what if he doesn’t? What if he plays along? What if he likes the fire?”
“I’ll throw gasoline on it,” I shoot back. “I’ll go nuclear.”
She bites back a smile. “And if that doesn’t scare him off either?”
I hesitate.
That’s the real fear, isn’t it? It’s been stalking me since the moment we met. I’m not afraid he’ll walk away, I’m terrified he won’t. That I’ll burn and he’ll savor the flames. I shake the thought loose.
“He’ll hate me, Evie. I’ll give him whiplash, cold, distant, rude. I’ll redecorate his mansion in pink tulle and fake roses. I’ll force his men to go gluten-free, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll drag them all into a vegan diet.”
Evie snorts into her drink. “Oh no. Not vegan,” she teases.
“Watch me. I’ll host a dinner party where everything is free of carbs, meat, dairy, and joy.”
She presses a hand to her heart. “Ruthless.”
“That’s what I’m known for.”
“Actually, you’re known for art, caffeine addictions, and choosing the worst dates in all of Manhattan.”
“What dates?” I gesture wildly around the bar. “I’m not allowed to date! I’m not allowed to have any fun. That’s the whole point!”
She rolls her eyes. “Let’s not pretend you’re as pure as your daddy thinks you are.”
We laugh, and for a moment the future, the man poised to ruin it, fades. But expectation sits heavy on my shoulders, waiting to shove me back to reality.
Then Evie sets her drink down and leans closer. Her voice is quieter now. “When do you move in?”
“Tomorrow,” I exhale, mourning how fast reality crashes back in.